


Finger Paint

by RedFlagsAndDiamonds



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daycare, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Gen, Kid Fic, Little!Pietro, Little!Wanda, Multi, PTSD in children, Playcare, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, angst because Maximoffs, daycare AU, fluff because kid fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFlagsAndDiamonds/pseuds/RedFlagsAndDiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wanda knows what's expected of her - to run, play, be happy. No other child in the room finds it difficult, not even her own twin brother. But how can she, when the worst hours of her life play constantly behind her eyes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finger Paint

**Author's Note:**

> I was greatly displeased by "Age of Ultron," but I will make an exception for the Maximoff twins, who stole my heart.
> 
> This was supposed to be a fluffy little fic, but because angst is my MO, it snuck in through the back door and didn't leave. 
> 
> Despite that, it was really quite therapeutic to write, especially during finals.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

As she walked up the drive to the enormous white-sided house, her tiny hand clutched in one of Mr. U.’s gigantic ones, Wanda Maximoff didn’t feel very well – for real this time. She’d done her best fake cough that morning, stuffed the leftovers of her breakfast cereal into her mouth when she was sure no one was looking, and spat them up into the toilet before wailing that she’d thrown up – when no one was fooled, she had simply grabbed her much abused red marker and colored all over her hands, again, up her arms, and even a bit of her neck before anyone managed to stop her.

Miss Cho had simply given her another bath, scolding her quietly that she had more than enough to do around the house without scrubbing Wanda down every time she had a tantrum. The four-year old hadn’t known how to explain that she wasn’t _angry,_ not really, just… uncertain. She’d cried a little more as she was wrapped in a fresh towel and sent back to the nursery to change – that by itself had been a futile effort. She’d simply stood in the center of the room, shaking her head, until Miss Cho and one of the housemaids had to, through concentrated effort, wriggle her bodily into a little sundress and a pair of tights, Wanda shrieking in protest between them.

After several minutes, she finally appeared to have burned herself out, and sat quietly pouting on the edge of the bed as her little boots were velcroed into place, and her brother cuddled up next to her. He’d planted a soft kiss on her cheek as she scrubbed tiredly at her swollen eyes, not saying much but just hugging her against him like always.

She’d felt bad immediately, and kissed him back, harder, on the ear – He’d only mentioned it once or twice, quietly, but Wanda knew perfectly well how much he missed playing with the others in the apartment complex, before… well, it didn’t matter. He’d actually been looking forward to today, to going, and she’d been ruining it for him…

Thus, when Mr. U. came out of his huge Office to fetch them, Wanda was standing silently beside her brother in her favorite red jacket, determined to keep a stiff upper lip.

This resolve lasted all of the thirty-two minute drive to “the place,” until they were standing at the huge door – even bigger than the one to Mr. U.’s Office, which was one of the most forbidden grown-up places the twins had ever encountered. Horrible punishments had been promised if either put so much as a finger to the doorknob, and neither brother or sister had been brave enough to find out if Mr. U. was as good as his word.

The doorbell chimed twice, before there was some tell-tale movement behind the foggy glass door, which finally opened to reveal a tall man in a blue and white checked shirt. His face was nice but Wanda immediately shrunk back, hiding herself as far behind Mr. U.’s huge arm as she could.

They were led inside to a hallway with a desk and lots of papers in little shelves on the wall, and she and Pietro could only stand silently under the overhanging counter, clutching each other’s hand while Mr. U. had to write down lots of grown-up stuff. They’d tried to figure them out before, but had to give up because most of the words were too big.

While Mr. U. was writing, the man in the checked shirt knelt down in front of the desk and asked them their names. Pietro spoke up first, quietly, though Wanda refused to say anything. Maybe there was still a chance they’d decide she could go home.

 

*

 

She wasn’t that lucky.

They were led down some stairs, and into a great big room that was made to look like it was outside. The carpet was a grassy green, and a shiny blue plastic river split the room in two halves, with a little log bridge stretching across. On one side were a couple of big trees that didn’t look very real, but they had lots of branches to climb on and one even had a big bird’s nest at the top, full of pillows. On the other side were some tables and chairs, a big table-tub full of soap suds, and shelves sagging with picture books.

There were other children there too, and they didn’t seem scared or worried, though a few stopped to look when the twins came in. Wanda felt her tummy knot up, and the sensation only worsened when her brother’s grip on her loosened slightly, his eyes fixed on a couple of little boys chasing each other in circles around the tree trunks. He looked towards her hesitantly, biting at his lip, and for an agonizing second she considered pleading with him to stay next to her, just like he always had – but that wouldn’t be fair. So she nodded, very secretly so none of the grownups in the room would see, and suddenly Pietro had dashed off to join the others clustering at the tree top, leaving Wanda all alone in the middle of the big flower rug.

For a long while she just sat there, little legs stretched straight out in front of her, not certain what to do and terrified to move.

Eventually a lady with red hair sat next to her, before asking her gently why she was sitting out, and didn’t she want to play?

Wanda didn’t reply, though she allowed herself a brief longing glance at the street of playhouses along the wall. The lady – Natasha, she said her name was – must have noticed, because she called over another little girl, who was piling a bunch of toy bricks up in front of the bank.

At first, Skye was a little reluctant to admit another party to her “secret base,” but after Nat assured her that two spies were far better than one, the four year old seemed to see the wisdom in the idea, and before Wanda could protest, Skye had grabbed her hand and pulled her off in the direction of her makeshift fort.

There were three real not-working keyboards and a real not-working phone inside the bank, which were very useful for sending off secret messages and stealing money with computers (Wanda wasn’t very sure how that could work, but Skye seemed to understand it) and telling airplanes when to blow up and things like that. After emptying the last personal finance accounts of the king of the entire universe, they obviously had to locate some way of enjoying their ill-gained profits – However, Skye pointed out that Raina was hogging the dress-up corner as usual, so their plans of announcing their victory to the world at large via the Sing-Along microphone were completely spoiled (to Wanda’s silent relief.) The only viable option was to fix up a banquet and invite nobody, purely to assert their own exclusive status; the base was quickly abandoned in favor of the big kitchen, where the largest pot was commandeered and set to boil on the stove – roughly five minutes later, what had started as million dollar gold soup became witch’s brew (“like Baba Yaga, but worse!” Wanda had declared proudly when one of the grown-ups – Sam – had been brave enough to ask what they were doing) and soon Skye was racing about on the kitchen broom in pursuit of suitably plump children to devour, while Wanda led the way from her flying mortar, rowing through the air with the giant pestle (the play raft made an acceptable substitute, as did the kitchen dustpan.) which kept them extremely busy until Natasha rang the bell for circle time.

Thor won the nearly unanimous vote for story reader that day, and the reason was clear to Wanda almost immediately – he did voices better than nearly almost anybody, and made it sound deep and terrifying when it seemed that the big hungry bear was closing in on the little mouse, and his great big strawberry.

It was yogurt and berries for snack time, in keeping with the theme, and the general munching gave Wanda a chance to really talk with the other little girl, who she liked to think might be a friend. It helped that Skye was in foster care too, but she called her foster parent “Phil,” and not Mr. anything. They both liked princesses, though Skye was more partial to Mulan and Merida (who Wanda hadn’t really heard of but were apparently “really cool”) and Wanda just liked Princess Vasilisa in any portrayal. Skye and the little girl next to her, Jemma, were both somewhat confused when she tried to explain, but fortunately Natasha overheard and suddenly there was another impromptu story time as she told them about Tsar Saltan, Prince Guidon, and the magical island. Wanda was about to comment that she hadn’t told the story quite right, but bit it back – maybe only Mamka could tell it the right way. It wasn’t Natasha’s fault.

After snack time they made paper bear masks with Steve, before Bruce put on the quiet music and they all had to settle down for a nap. Wanda excused herself carefully and hurried over to Pietro on the other side of the river as the lights went out. Steve came over and asked if either would like to get a stuffed animal from the reading buddy basket, but both shook their heads and just curled up close to each other on the floor, a fuzzy blue blanket from the pillow room spread over top of their legs.

Wanda didn’t like sleeping anymore. She always saw the smoke, heard the screaming, Mr. Strucker standing over them in the childrens’ hospital and not telling them where Mamka and Tata had gone –

Pietro hugged his arms a little tighter around her neck, pulling her back to the present. She bit her lip as she closed her eyes tight and focused on her twin’s heartbeat, thumping away under his favorite blue shirt. Just like she had that night, nearly five months before.

*

Nap time took forever, or seemed to, but when Sam noticed she was awake he came over and whispered to her that she could play quietly if she wanted, until everyone else woke up. Wanda was hesitant to leave her brother, but after another two minutes of monotonous silence, she succumbed to reality and quietly padded over to the craft sink, where Jemma and Peter were already wide awake and painting on sheets of huge white paper.

Steve asked her quietly if she’d like to paint as well, and she had no idea how to say no.

She was supposed to wait until she had a smock on, but Jemma wanted to show her the mass of turquoise and olive green that she claimed was a lake of slime, and it had seemed rude to ignore her. Wanda knew her manners, even if she sometimes forgot.

Peter was adding another splotch to the back of his big spider (“for ‘Tasha!” he explained proudly) and while Wanda didn’t like spiders very much the process of painstakingly adding each long leg, one at a time, was interesting to watch.

She bit her lip, leaning in a little bit closer, just before Peter motioned over one of the grown-ups to pour a generous dollop of firey red into his paint dish.

Wanda stiffened immediately, trembling, and, ignoring Peter’s shouts of protest dipped her fingers directly into the paint and smeared it across the back of her hand.

It was a million-billion times better than the marker – not dry and brown, but wet like water and so red, the reddest red ever, and she couldn’t help but stare…

 

_There was a big hole in the floor, and the fire was coming up – it was coming to get them. Pietro wouldn’t let go of her wrist, no matter how hard she tried to shake him off, her eyes stinging. Something way up creaked loudly as he yanked her into the bathroom after him, and together they piled into the old bathtub, the big one with the crack running down the side. They squeezed close, both of them crying helplessly, and Pietro had started to cough – Wanda fought to suck in a breath, but it hurt, her throat and chest hurt so much. She tried to call for Mamka, but all that came out was a harsh rasp –_

_In the other room, someone was screaming._

_The creaking got louder, louder, until suddenly the back of the bathtub lurched violently downwards, the floor slanting underneath them. They both screamed together, before flames jumped up around their heads from the new crater in the floor – it was hot, too hot to even cry – and then, finally, the creaking stopped with a huge crash that hurt their ears. Big pieces of wood smashed down around them as the ceiling gave way, and pain exploded across her head. She touched her hair, dazed, felt wetness._

_Her hand came away red._

“Wanda,” a calm but firm voice drifted through the smoke. “We paint on the paper, not on ourselves.”

The smoke cleared, the bright colors of the room flooding back – but the red was still there, indelible on her skin…

She started to tremble, her lower lip wobbling uncontrollably, For a moment she thought she might have heard someone calling her name, someone who sounded like her mother, but- but…

Suddenly something burst inside her, and with a sobbing scream she flung her hands into the wet pool of red, smearing up her arms, across her face, into her hair, over her neck –

Big hands grabbed her wrists, held them against her chest with an easy grip that she wasn’t strong enough to break, as her shrieks quieted to nothing more than rattling sobs.

“W-Wanda…!”

She opened one eye slowly – the other trapped shut by paint – only to find her now very awake brother, struggling to make his way over despite how Natasha held him back.

Wanda burst into fresh tears as the man clutching her arms picked her up and moved her quickly into one of the adjoining bathrooms, the one with the sink big enough to sit on. A few hiccupping sobs ripped themselves loose as she let her legs hang limply over the edge, wondering how much it would hurt if she just slipped off. She’d spoiled everything anyway, what difference could one last push make…?

A wet washcloth suddenly brushed over her face, and she tried to wriggle away with a startled squeal – a big hand cupped the back of her head, holding her relatively still as a pair of voices mumbled nearby.

“-it’s non-toxic, I just want to get it away from her mouth –“

“-is there an allergy risk?”

“Not sure – just keep the brother calm…”

Resigning herself to another scrub down for the time being, Wanda miserably let her eyes flicker open to a blue eyed man with spikey hair lathering up her stained neck as Natasha worked off her jacket – bright red splotches stood out against the soft leather. Another burst of tears threatened to push it’s way up her throat – even that, she’d even spoiled that for herself, all her own fault…

Natasha was trying to quiet her down, promised her she’d wipe the paint off and it’d be fine, no one would even know – they’d put her dress and tights in the washer, she could get them tomorrow when she came back and everything would be okay – Just stay with Clint for now, and she’d be right back…

Wanda didn’t bother to listen, because none of it was even true – _everyone would know_.

_Everyone would know that it was her fault, it was all her fault – too slow, too stupid, too…_

_Maybe if she’d been fast, like her brother, she could have found them, and they would have gotten away together._

_Maybe if she hadn’t made a face at her father, he would have come back for them._

_Maybe if she hadn’t touched that match…_

She grabbed at her wet hair with both hands as a few fresh tears squeezed free, only for her arms to be grasped again as Clint pulled her against him, her back to his warm chest, and held her still. She struggled a moment, kicking, biting at his arms, but the grip was too strong, and after a few minutes she slumped down in exhaustion. Neither of them moved for a while, until he carefully let go to pick up the washcloth again and sponge away the fresh salt tracks on her cheeks.

Before she could stop herself, she swung in a little circle and squeezed her arms around his neck, trembling as he laid a hand on her back, rubbing gently.

“Aw sweetie…”

For a few minutes she let herself just enjoy being held – warmth, big arms keeping her safe – until her heart slowed down and Natasha came back to help her change.

*

Once she was clean they let Pietro come in to get her – he hugged her so tight she couldn’t breathe for a whole minute - before grabbing her tiny hand in one of his own and leading her back into the main room.

Inspired by Jemma’s painting, Bruce was showing them how to make Slime in the science corner, but she didn’t feel very comfortable with that.

After a moment’s serious deliberation, she decided that the safest option was to join Skye in the reading zone, but after just a little while she decided that she didn’t really like _Stellaluna_ , and because Skye absolutely didn’t want to read any other book ever, Wanda plonked herself down back in the center of the flower rug. She picked at the collar of her replacement Little Mermaid t-shirt for a few minutes, watching her brother crawling through the big striped tunnel with Grant, and wondered if this sort of thing was why everyone said she was so weird…

Someone settled onto the rug next to her, and with a shy bite of her lip she focused on the soft purple petals of the flower so that Clint wouldn’t see her face. When she got tired of that, she flopped onto her back, even though it hurt a little, and focused on the little dots all over the ceiling. If she tried really hard, she could almost see pictures in them.

He didn’t try to make her talk, like some grown-ups did – just kept her company on the floor, until she decided he definitely wasn’t going to go away, and, just to humor him, asked if he’d like some tea. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was bored enough for her brain to turn to mush. Nothing at all.

He smiled a little, and asked for coffee instead.

There was no samovar, but because the big kitchen seemed to have everything else, she managed to invent a new way of making fresh brew using the blender, the light-up food processor, and briefly the washing machine.

Clint accepted the green plastic mug with what looked like a slightly bigger smile, and didn’t seem to mind – he even managed to swallow it all down before Natasha shouted at him to come help set out the supplies for upside-down sundaes.

Once they’d all had their ice cream, been wiped up afterward, and settled in for afternoon circle time, it kind of sort of maybe started to be a good day again. Thor having gone home, Sam was selected as reader, and Wanda had to admit she might like Sam even better – he made the pigeon sound funny, and pretended to look angry when they all shouted “ _NO!!!_ ” every time he begged to drive the bus.

After circle time, Grant had to leave early to go hunting with his daddy, so Wanda dutifully joined her brother in the big bird’s nest, where it was quickly decided that they lived all alone together, hunting animals and picking berries for food and fighting off stuffed bears and wolves, along with the occasional mountain troll.

Six-o’clock came way too fast, and soon mommies and daddies were coming to take everyone home. It would have made her a little upset, but Skye hugged her before leaving with Phil, and that was nice.

They weren’t the very last ones to leave – apparently Jemma’s mommy worked late – but it was still a bit of a disappointment when Steve brought Miss Cho downstairs. Wanda noticed immediately that she didn’t look happy, and wondered for a minute if someone had told on her. She wasn’t quite certain what that could mean, if Mr. U. would decide that was bad and that he didn’t want them living in his house any more – or if it was only her that couldn’t stay and she had to leave her brother behind, and… and… and…

Pietro caught her hand, squeezed gently. She managed a quick smile, but he wasn’t fooled.

Fortunately, if Miss Cho took any notice of the red matts in Wanda’s hair, or her change of clothes, she gave no sign of it.

*

The drive home in the dark was silent, like always, except for when Pietro smacked his heels against the base of the booster seat – always needing to move – and Miss Cho would have to tell him to sit still. The radio was always off, and they weren’t allowed to touch the windows – something about fingers leaving spots, which seemed silly, but it was easier to behave than be punished.

A million years later, the car pulled into Mr. U.’s polished garage, the silver paint reflecting off all the shiny metal. There was music playing outside, which meant there was another work party going on, and they wouldn’t see Mr. U. for another four days at least. Not that it bothered them – they almost never saw Mr. U. anyway.

It didn’t take long for them to be hustled upstairs to the nursery – it wasn’t bedtime, but they’d have to stay inside and be quiet until everyone went home.

Settling down in front of the big tv with her brother, Wanda silently let her eyes wander over all the grey-lavender walls, the silver metal, the expensive toys that they were really only meant to look at, and weren’t allowed to take out of the room.

She might not really actually understand “the place,” and parts of it might have seemed scary. But, in the end, she wasn’t entirely certain if it would be so bad to go back tomorrow.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thor's storybook is [The Little Mouse, The Red-Ripe Strawberry, And The Big, Hungry Bear](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apvgbUckC-k)  
> Sam reads [Don't Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWEekO4ufwM)
> 
>  
> 
> Princess Vasilisa is the "default" princess for essentially every Russian fairy tale. 
> 
>  
> 
> "The Tale of Tsar Saltan" is a Russian epic poem that basically developed into one of the most complicated - and fantastic - fairy tales ever. Like, it starts out as Cinderella, then turns into classic greek mythology, and then there's a princess who's turned into a swan, and squirrels who crack open gold nuts and find emeralds and magical armies and enchanted islands and - seriously, [read it](https://www.marxists.org/subject/art/literature/children/texts/pushkin/tsar.html) , it's awesome.  
>  
> 
> I had a blast with this little 'verse, and might continue with it at some point - if you have any ideas or just scenarios you'd like to see, don't hesitate to mention it in the comments or leave me a message on [Tumblr!](http://shakespeareia.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
